


Can't Breathe

by FictitiousFanatisch



Series: Can't Breathe [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Bottom Zayn, Choking, Depressing Thoughts, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Maltreatment, Mental Illness, Neglect, Paranoid Personality Disorder - PPD, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it wasn't fair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Breathe

 

**> > > > **

 

 

 

 

Zayn often caught himself daydreaming.

 

It was a horrible habit of his. Ever since he was young he had this inclination to sit on the side of his bed with his golden brown eyes blank and staring off into space as he drifted... _far_.

 

There was often so much to think about. There was so much whirring around his mind and distracting him from everything else he was supposed to be doing instead. The world was just so big. There were oceans and seas and lakes and rivers and streams. There were big mountains and deep valleys and green hills and tall trees and large forests and fluffy clouds and resplendent sunlight and eery moonlight and fluorescent flowers and sweet smelling gardens and whistling birds and lively animals and soft breezes and cool blue water and warm grainy sand between toes. There was dark brown earth and cold clear water that turned tiny seeds into leafy plants that produced fruits and vegetables.

 

There was stifled giggling and tight lipped grinning from freckled children and little curly haired brown girls. There was a woman who was allowed to marry the girl of her dreams. There was a dog who found it's way back home. There was a boy who finally stood up to his bully. There was an all As report card in someone's hands and a mother smiling proudly. There was so much happiness and love. There was strong will and courage and hard work and commitment that drove great minds and granted the ability to move mountains. There was so much good in the world. There was so much to hope to dream of.

 

And Zayn liked to dream.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

He stood by thewindows in the living room, staring out into the grey world. He curled his arms around himself, as he exhaled unsteadily. He stood without expression, without intention, without motivation.

He was just standing.

 

He watched the several single cars pass by the building, all splattering puddles of rain as they past. His empty eyes trained onto the droplets of water littering each the windows in front of him.

 

He sniffled.

 

Zayn startled when he heard the door knob jiggling, and quickly made his way back into the kitchen.

 

The air shifted entirely as soon as he heard that lone deep voice calling out from the foyer.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn remembered when he sat on the edge of the bathtub, back of his hands frantically wiping at his eyes to clear away all the tears that weren't letting up. He had tried not to focus on the stinging pink skin reaching across his left cheek. He squeezed his eyelids tight, and breathed in deeply.

He inhaled, then exhaled.

 

It wasn't that bad.

 

Liam was only in a shit mood.

 

He was upset and tired and he hadn't meant a single word of it.

 

He hadn't meant to raise his hand and hit Zayn.

 

He was just worn out and irritated and Zayn hadn't been thinking about any of that.

 

It didn't even matter what had happened because it was a one time thing and it would never happen again.

 

That was it.

 

That was all.

 

It was nothing.

 

Honestly.

 

That's what he had thought, anyway.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

It got hard to dream when he was constantly being roused.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn gingerly slid under the covers beside Liam, before reaching his arm out to switch off the night table light before curling up into himself.

 

Liam was already sound asleep by the time he finished in the kitchen, meticulously washing and drying each and every one of the dishes, placing them in the artificial wood cabinets quietly like he was supposed to. He had flicked off the lights to the house, only to be met with the light snoring of the overworked man resonating throughout the drywall of the home.

 

From the top of the stairs, Zayn took a quick glance at the door in the foyer, and decided on walking down to check if it was locked. Somewhere on the job, however, Zayn lost himself for a brief moment. He had placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted it, just to see what would happen. He was always curious. He pulled the door open, pressure in his gut and a pang of adrenaline spiking his heart as he took a glance at the outside world. The misty chill of the evening humidity sent shivers up his spine and elicited a patch of goosebumps on the nape of his neck. The sky was pitch black and starless; it was nearly midnight, and the whole neighbourhood was dismal.

 

He didn't know why he did it, though.

 

He softly pressed the door closed once more, stepping back from it before scolding himself and starting up the stairs once more.

He laid against the lavender smelling sheets, nuzzling his face into the cool fabric of his black pillowcase and revelling in the feel of it against his skin. He inhaled the softness, loving how every inch of his body was encompassed in warm, comforting silk. His hands splayed across the bed, muscles relaxing as he rubbed them over the sleek glossy fabric.

 

He remembered the Christmas four years ago, when he and Liam were still young and shy and flushed and in love. He remembers sitting in the living room he often finds himself in now, on the floor, torn bits of red and green wrapping paper splayed all around him as he discovered the silk red and black reversible bed linen. He had called his mother and had thanked her for them, as well as the thick sweaters and the new flat screen. Zayn hadn't known how to repay her. Zayn hadn't known what to say to convince her to take them back. But she hadn't wavered. With a fond voice, she told Zayn that she loved him and with that she wished him the best with his boyfriend.

 

That was four years ago, and Zayn hasn't spoken to his life giver since.

 

He breathed in the rich aroma and dusted his fingertips across the elegant sheets. He felt his heart grow heavy at the thought of his mother. He wondered what she was doing in that very moment. He imagined she was probably sleeping soundly next to his father in their bedroom with his sisters in the other bedrooms along the hallway, Doniya snoring like a pig, Waliyha staring up at her phone screen in the dark and Safaa sneaking from her room down the hall and into the kitchen to sneak some leftovers from dinner.

 

God, he missed them.

 

That got him thinking about his boyhood years, on his bed, splayed out on his back, and staring up at his ceiling. The light whiff of his mum's cooking completely filling his room. It would never be long before he arose and sped to the kitchen to help quicken the process.

God, he missed her cooking.

Zayn tensed up when Liam tossed a thick muscular arm over his thin frame. He blinked calmly in the dark, before snuggling up into him. He scooted on the bed until his back was pressed to Liam's chest, one arm slung over his body like a tether, like a rope, like a boundary, keeping Zayn there against him even in his incoherency. He let both his eyes shut, and tried to will himself to sleep. He tried to find the same comfort in his boyfriend's embrace.

But naught could lift the fear that replaced love in his heart.

**> > > >**

Zayn woke to the bedroom light flicking on above him. He drew his arms closer to his chest and tried to fall back to sleep. He was tired and it was obviously early because there was no light coming in from the window.

 

He breathed out, then back in. His eyelashes fluttered, as he closed and reopened his tired eyes.

 

He tried not to worry himself, but with the way he heard the man breathing and pacing back and forth along the soft cream carpet he could tell he was distressed.

He wanted to sit up. He wanted to sit up against the headboard and look over to him and ask him what it was this time. He wanted to reach out to Liam; he wanted to be able to do that. He wanted to have the freedom to do so. He wanted to stand up and join Liam and rub his back and listen to him explain. He wanted Liam to confess his inner most troubles to Zayn. He wanted Liam to tell him, so they could talk it out together.

 

But Zayn knew for a fact that wasn't how these things played out.

 

So he just focused on evening his breathing, to maybe fool Liam he was still asleep.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Liam had PPD.

 

Paranoid personality disorder.

 

He wasn't always affected by the disorder. About a year ago, Liam was sometimes nice and sweet and thoughtful. Sometimes he would bring home a bouquet of crimson roses along with the groceries as an apology. He would sometimes slip his hands through the spaces between Zayn's sides and hold him from behind, murmuring his apologies into the older man's shoulder. He sometimes offered to cook dinner, so Zayn could rest his aching body. On those rare occasions, he would also take him to bed early. Liam would gently undress him, peeling layers off of both of their bodies and pressing him down into their mattress. Liam would stroke his fingers through Zayn's long dark hair, yank his head back in the way he liked, suck red love bites along the crook of his neck, thrust in nice and slow to cloud Zayn's head and make it so nothing had happened at all.

 

Now, though, Liam came home feeling especially disturbed, and when that happened, he took it out on Zayn.

Every time.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn didn't think it was fair.

 

He genuinely felt angry with Liam, at times.

 

It wasn't his paranoia. He wasn't afraid of the outside world.

 

So he didn't understand why Liam kept him locked up in the house.

 

Zayn wanted to go out, sometimes.

 

Zayn wanted to go to the store and pick up some special things for dinner.

 

Zayn wanted to go down to the mall and buy himself some new clothes.

 

Zayn wanted to surprise Liam with a nice anniversary present.

 

Zayn wanted to go get a haircut.

 

Zayn wanted to go set up his own bank account.

 

Zayn wanted to go apply for some jobs.

 

Zayn wanted to come and go as he pleased.

 

Zayn wanted the freedom to leave for a couple of hours, just to run and errand or two.

 

Zayn didn't want to get punished for leaving the house.

 

So he stayed inside, like he was supposed to.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn picked through the clothing in their closet, keeping his hands on his side. Liam had lots of different suits and trousers and jumpers and white button ups and slacks that he kept on his side, and he didn't like it when Zayn messed with them. Liam didn't mean Zayn couldn't wash them or iron them when he needed something for work. He just got so stressed when things weren't left as he placed them.

 

Zayn was organising his winter clothes and leaving them on the bed so he could decide which were appropriate for use and which were too old and worn. He had several of his own jumpers from a few years back but they weren't nearly warm enough for the winter that was ahead. Liam also kept the house heat low because he was always hot and woke up having hot flashes so he never turned the temperature up above a 15.

 

Zayn knew he needed new clothes. He'd needed some for a while now but he was too afraid to ask Liam to take him out to get some.

 

Now that he thought about it, Zayn hadn't taken a step outside their house in nearly three years. He hadn't owned a single of his own belongings since Liam revoked his privileges of them. He didn't own a phone, or have a license. He finished school, but he didn't have any experience working. He didn't hold a single pound to his name that he recalled. He had a few pairs of shoes but he never had use for them, so they just sat at the base of the closet and collected dust.

Liam had said he wanted to protect him.

 

Zayn stopped the movements of his hands as soon as he saw the shirt. His eyebrows furrowed as he pulled the shirt from its hanger and held it up for his eyes to witness. It was a long sleeved sleek black button down on his side of the closet. It still had the tag on the sleeve and the man couldn't think for the life of him when or how he acquired that piece of clothing. He stared at it for a long time. It was unused and still smelled of synthetic materials. He'd never seen it before. He briefly thought that it might have been Liam's and was just misplaced, but Zayn could clearly see that it wasn't Liam's size. He was confused. Liam didn't buy Zayn clothing and if he were to, there was no way it would be fancy clothing.

 

What would he even use it for?

 

"What are you doing?"

 

Zayn jumped, his hands clutching the collar of the shirt. Liam was standing in the doorway of the room, hands folded over his chest an eyebrows raised as if he had just caught Zayn in the act of doing something he wasn't supposed to see.

 

"I-I was just... seeing if-"

 

"You going somewhere?" Liam asked, as he took a step into the room eyes scrolling over the pile of his boyfriends clothing on the bed. Zayn could almost see that heat of panic spark in his big chocolate eyes. Liam ways assumed the worst.

 

Zayn shook his head vigorously.

"No. No. I was just... these are old and I wanted to see what was-"

 

"Where did you get that?" Liam inquired, raising his hand up and snatching it from Zayn.

 

"I don't know. It was in the closet," Zayn backed up a little, feeling his heart rate quicken.

 

"It's not mine..." Liam said as he inspected it. He checked the tag and the cuffs, his own eyebrows contorted in confusion.

 

"Well I didn't buy it so where did it come from?"

 

Zayn knew what was next.

 

He knew Liam was about to accuse him of something.

 

He never knew what was coming because Liam was so unpredictable at times. Liam could come up with some pretty nonsensical things in that brain of his. He could make up so many damn improbabilities and hold Zayn to absolutely ridiculous fantasy ideas that came from no where.

 

"Where did it come from, Zayn?" Liam asked, tone raising slightly.

 

Zayn opened his mouth to respond with a denial, but the expression on Liam's face told him that it didn't even matter what he said. Liam was upset and there was no going back at this point.

 

"Answer the fucking question."

 

But Liam had already made it impossible for Zayn to move and breathe and thrive, so how could he even think to do whatever it was Liam was proposing?

"I don't know..." Zayn murmured.

 

It wasn't fair.

 

"You're lying to me, right? You think you can lie to my face and I won't know the difference?"

 

For the life of him Zayn couldn't fathom where these absurdities were coming from.

 

"I haven't left the house, Liam. I promise. I wouldn't lie to you." Zayn tried, keeping his voice level, trying his best to avoid angering the man even further.

 

"Zayn..." Liam shook his head as he tossed the shirt onto the bed beside the other piles of clothing. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled, hands trembling unsteadily.

 

Zayn watched the all too familiar scene, the man he called his boyfriend, his partner, his other half, growing so uncontrollably bothered that he had to gain some sort of control. And Zayn willingly let Liam control him.

 

"Li-"

 

"Shut up and stand there," his deep voice harshly commanded.

 

Zayn stared at the carpet beneath his feet, his whole face feeling hot and his body growing tense.

 

He hated this part.

 

"I have simple requests, Zayn. You don't leave this house. You don't lie to me. You do NOT lie to me. EVER." Liam raised his voice, the words burning into Zayn's skin like permanent wounds, never healing, always reinforced and continuously painful.

 

"And you fucking look at me when I'm talking to you,"

 

Zayn looked up instantly, chewing his bottom lip with terror in his eyes as he tried to hold his semblance from expressing how much this was hurting him.

Liam wasn't done.

 

"I made the rules very clear to you on numerous occasions, yet you keep testing my boundaries. Why is that? Are you trying to piss me off?"

 

Zayn didn't know how to respond. It seemed that these encounters just got more and more ludicrous as time went on. Of course Zayn wasn't trying to piss Liam off. He never wanted to anger his boyfriend, always walking and talking softly, cooking every night, obeying Liam even to the most humiliating request. Zayn never complained. He was accustomed to his life now, and he never questioned Liam even in this state of deliriousness.

 

Zayn just watched silently as Liam exploded in front of him, pieces of himself chipping off and unravelling with every claim that left his mouth. Zayn watched helplessly as Liam tore himself apart, his inability to trust making no exceptions and completely eliminating his trust for Zayn.

 

"I've sick of it, Zayn. I really am,"

 

And Zayn just wanted to ask him. He just wanted to ask him what it was that he was going on and on about. He wished he could ask Liam what it _really_ was that got him so upset.

 

But he kept his mouth shut.

 

"Stay still," Liam ordered, and Zayn obeyed.

 

He steeled his expression, keeping his eyes straight as Liam brought his hand up and slapped him across the face. His head snapped sideways, and he breathed out through his nose.

 

"...and I don't know where this came from but I never want to see it again,"

 

Zayn just stood there and took it when Liam smacked him back across the opposite side of his face, an equally pink splotch to match the first left on his cheek.

 

Zayn didn't even flinch anymore. He was used to the roughness of Liam's hands and the loud boisterousness of Liam's voice. He was used to feeling hot all over and wishing he could just melt into the floorboards of their home. The home that held so much injustice. So many unsaid words and unspoken thoughts. Zayn was used to the feeling of being a lesser in the house. He was used to having no opinion and only speaking when spoken to. He wasn't phased as to what was happening, but that didn't mean he didn't hate every minute of it.

 

"Now put all this shit away," Liam snarled, grabbing Zayn by the arm and shoving him in the direction of the pile of clothes on the bed.

Then Liam was storming out of the room and down the hall, and Zayn was fully convinced it was getting worse. Liam was now nit-picking at every little thing he did, and trying to find some fault in it. He was almost positive Liam was taking it out on him on purpose, solely because he could.

 

It wasn't fair.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn ran his fingers through his long soapy hair, squeezing his eyes tight as the water ran down his face. He rinsed his hair out, looking down and watching suds drift further and further down his chest and abdomen.

 

There wasn't much to do all day when Liam was gone to work. After he washed the dishes from breakfast he put them away. After he put the dishes away he swept the floors. After he swept the floors he would vacuum the carpets. After he vacuumed the carpets, he would do the laundry, and water his plants, and dust the cabinets and the stairs and clean the appliances and wash and dry the laundry. Zayn would make sure all of Liam's work shirts were clean and ironed and back in his closet by his return.

 

Zayn hated to think his whole life had led up to his enslavement as a house maid, but that's the way things had to be for Liam. Liam didn't feel comfortable with it any other way.

 

Zayn shook his hair out as he stepped out of the shower, making sure to mop up whatever water had spilled as a result. He then wrapped his towel around his body, and stepped back into their master bedroom.

 

It always felt so empty, when Liam wasn't there.

 

When Liam was working, which was everyday of the week but Sunday, Zayn was left to his thoughts.

 

Not that he minded.

 

He just got lonely sometimes. In the least pathetic way, Zayn had all this time at his disposal and he spent most of it missing his family or thinking about his childhood and all the friends he used to have. He thought about having someone to talk to. He wanted someone who would listen to him, and be there for him no matter what.

 

Zayn sat on his side of his bed, his hair dripping cool water down his spine.

 

In a way, Zayn felt that Liam was breaking him. He felt like he was a dog, one of Liam's possessions; something that needed to trained, and broken in. Zayn was sure that one day Liam would tie him down for good. And when that happened, he wasn't sure if he would ever see his family again or if he would get to live his own life. Zayn was sure Liam would leak his disease like ideas of assurance into every single aspect of his life. Hell, he might have even started tying Zayn up during the days just to help him keep peace of mind.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Liam plopped down next to Zayn on the couch. Zayn drew the pillow in his arms closer to his chest, his eyes focused on the television.

 

"Yeah... uh huh. Mhm. I'll have it finished by Friday, yeah? Okay... Alright. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye," Liam said before ending the call.

 

Zayn found no significant importance in the program on the flat screen. He stopped watching tv almost as soon as Liam cracked down on him three years ago. Liam hadn't specifically taken away his ability to do so, but Zayn just sort of figured his time wasn't to be spent on idle things like watching shit on tv.

 

"...put that on the charger," Liam waved his phone in Zayn's face, making his eyes squeeze tight and his head flinch back slightly out of natural habit.

 

"...sorry," Zayn said, taking it as soon as he realised his mistake and connected it to the charger attached to the outlet on the wall beside the couch.

Liam just huffed, turning back to the screen. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table, flicking through the channels absentmindedly, sipping vodka from his glass and clearing his throat every few moments.

 

Zayn didn't want to bother Liam.

 

He never wanted to bother Liam.

 

But he was getting so tired of being afraid to speak, in fear of angering him.

 

He never knew or remembered what it was that triggered Liam's reactions. He still wasn't used to Liam's disorder, even if he was used to it's side effects.

 

He had been thinking about it for a long time. He had been needing some things and he had been rather good lately. Liam hadn't gotten upset with him all week. Liam hadn't needed to reiterate the rules or give him a few hard slaps to remind him. He hadn't stuttered or stalled while answering Liam. He hadn't made a meal Liam didn't like. He hadn't burned a single hole through any of Liam's shirts.

 

Thing is, Zayn wasn't really sure how he was going to ask Liam to buy him anything. He had never felt this much pressure before to ask his boyfriend for something. He remembered years ago, he and Liam strolling through the mall or the grocery store far before his diagnosis. He would call Liam's attention to something that caught his eye: A bear, a blanket, a hoodie, a pair of Jays, a Kanye West CD. Whatever it was, Liam would never tell him no, even if Zayn had insisted he was only kidding. Liam would always treat Zayn to those types of things, back when they were friends. 

 

But that felt like a forever ago.

 

Things were so different now.

 

Zayn could barely open his mouth in fear that Liam would strike him.

 

"L-Li?" Zayn whispered, voice weak and unused.

 

Liam turned his head toward the pathetic sound."Hm?"

 

Zayn swallowed hard, willing his eyes to look up and over to the man he would be with for the rest of his life.

 

"I... I was wondering... if I could maybe get some... clothes. I'm running out of things that like... fit and it's been a long time and... I just... yeah," Zayn mumbled, only looking up every couple words.

 

When Zayn first moved in with Liam he was nineteen. He was now twenty three and had outgrown most of his wardrobe. It's not like he needed the best of the best in fashion for watering plants and daydreaming barefoot, but he still needed to wear something. He got sick easily and if he was left freezing at night he wouldn't be able to _not_ get sick. And when that happened, Liam often refused to take Zayn to the doctor.

 

"...sure. What do you need?" Liam asked.

 

Zayn had to think for a moment; he didn't think he'd get this far.

 

"Um... just some-"

 

"Some like, long sleeved shirts? A jumper or two. A few hoodies and stuff. Winter and all..."

 

Zayn nodded. "Yeah,"

 

"I know you get cold at nights,"

 

Zayn felt a smile creep up the corners of his mouth at that.

 

And he hated himself for it.

 

"I'm pretty busy this week. I'll stop by the store on my way home on Saturday, alright?" Liam raised his thick eyebrows.

 

"Alright..." Zayn replied, trying hard not to love him.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

"I don't know why. It's might just be the fact that I'm useless. I sit around and talk to myself. I think too much. I just get on his nerves sometimes," Zayn hummed to his orchids, as he dropped ice cubes from the cup in his hands into each pot.

 

He was making the daily rounds in the sunroom, making sure the temperature was stable and the plants weren't drooping. He hated to see them looking as weak and uninspired as he was.

 

"... I try apologising. It never really does much good. I don't think things will ever go back to the way they were before, ya know?" He smirked to his hibiscus tree, as he picked up the plastic purple cup of water from the wooden table behind him and dumped it into the soil.

 

He spent the first few hours of the day this way. He woke up to an empty house, or on those rare occasions he was shaken awake to cook breakfast he would do that. Usually he was alone though, so he would pray for ten minutes, then get up and fix himself a bowl of cereal and a piece of fruit, then, after making sure there wasn't a single crum on any of the kitchen appliances, he would start filling plastic cups with water for his plants.

 

Zayn had lots of plants. Well, a few. He had a hibiscus tree, a few violets, some carnations, a cactus, a lemon tree and several orchids. They supposedly helped keep a serene environment for Liam, although Zayn had grown pretty fond of them since everything else in his life became manipulated. He kept them in the sunroom at the farthest end of the house that neither of the men really occupied too much. But Zayn sure as hell went in there for his plants.

 

Zayn just liked them.

 

He liked them a lot.

 

Zayn liked the way they always bloomed in spring. He liked how no matter what, they always revealed their petals each and every morning regardless of the previous night's events. He liked the flowers most of all. He had always looked at flowers in envy. He never understood how even though so many petals had fallen and so many had shrivelled up and died, the plants kept giving off such sweet smells and presenting such unique colours. Zayn was convinced that every colour in the world came from some kind of flower. If it weren't for roses, how would you describe the colour red? If you had no violets, how could anyone fathom purple, the mixture of both red and blue? If there were no sunflowers, how would a person be able to see the bright yellow of the sun without scorching their retinas? If there were no tulips, how else could a person hold the entire rainbow in their hands all at once?

 

Zayn especially liked the roses, though.

 

Liam always bought those for Zayn.

 

He liked the way the thorns protruded, sharp and harsh, and threateningly beautiful. Zayn was in love with the way they shrivelled at too much contact, retracting and repulsing with the single stroke of human fingertips. He was fascinated by the way all the other flowers closed up in fear, while the rose revealed itself layer by layer, shamelessly exposing it's complete make up both day and night all the time.

 

Only Zayn really hated the flowers Liam got for him, mainly because his favourite part of his most favourite flowers had been removed.

It was such a waste, he thought.

 

"I would never hurt any of you. You do nothing but sit there and look pretty all day," Zayn sighed as he collected his empty cups and stepped back up into the house.

He made sure to slide the glass door shut before walking himself back to the kitchen.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Zayn walked up the stairs from the basement, laundry basket filled with clean clothes in his arms.

 

Liam bursted the front door open, and tossed the bag at Zayn then bolted up the stairs to his study.

 

Zayn could tell he was in a bad mood.

 

He placed the laundry basket on the step below him, before prying open the sides of the big white plastic bag, to see what it was.

 

His eyes fell of the plain black long sleeved shirts and grey sweaters. There were a few pairs of sweatpants, some black socks and some thick jumpers. He could work with that.

 

He tossed the bag into the hamper and hoisted it back up onto his hip before walking himself back up to the main level.

 

Liam was sitting in his study, phone in hand as he argued back and fourth to some co-worker on the other side.

 

Zayn never knew how much stress could go into advertising but apparently it was rigorous trying to keep clients from turning to another company in hopes of saving money and receiving a better idea to promote their products. Liam had mentioned his hate for his job and the people working for him on many occasions. However, he was partner, which practically ensured his pay check every month would be enough to pay for groceries and all of the bills and maintenance on Liam's Range Rover and all that so.

 

Zayn meandered past the glass windowed door, and on to their bedroom, nudging open the white wooden slab with his foot and walking through the doorway.

As soon as he had folded and put away all of Liam's clothes and hung up every last one of Liam's ties, he was placing the basket in the center of their queen sized bed.

 

Before he could even think about his new clothes, though, the oven timer beeped off and he was hopping up and trotting down the hall to retrieve his meatloaf.

When all was secure and his steamed vegetables were set aside to cool with the rice and loaf, he placed the oven mits back into the designated drawers and made his way back into his room.

 

He then flicked the light back on and slid over to the bed where his goods were.

 

He piled up the jumpers and the sweaters, them tore out the sweatpants and the socks, leaving all of his shirts to be put away first.

 

He couldn't remember when the last time was he got new clothes.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

Sometimes Liam didn't ask.

 

The nights where Liam knew he wanted something, but his lack of touch with his partner made him completely oblivious as to how he should go about asking for it.

Those were Zayn's least favourite.

 

Now Zayn had sort of lost interest in having sex a long time ago. He wasn't exactly sure when, but he knew it just wasn't something that felt good anymore.

Not since Liam's... well, you know.

 

And if he couldn't do it with Liam-old Liam- _his_ Liam, then he would never be able to do it with anyone.

 

It just wasn't the same.

 

Liam used to always be sweet and gentle with Zayn, never pushing him or going past the point of what was okay. And as sad as it may seem to say, Zayn had almost forgotten what that was like.

 

Now, Liam never even really touched Zayn at all, unless it was to hurt him.

 

Zayn was used to Liam rolling him over in the middle of the night, and forcing his legs apart. He was used to Liam not spending time preparing him, instead waking him up to the sharp uncomfortable feeling of being taken carelessly. Zayn was used to having no form of stability, gripping the sheets or his own hair or skin in order to steady himself in some way. He never put his hands on Liam during sex. Liam usually got angry with him for leaving marks on his skin and had said on countless occasions that he couldn't go to out work looking like some whore. He was used to Liam being extremely rough, not caring how loud he was being or whether or not he would break the bed or if he wanted Zayn to hurt badly in the morning or not. He never seemed to care about any of that, and it drove Zayn up the wall. It was just inconsiderate and wrong. But he was used to the fact that Liam would get himself off and not even give a shit whether or not Zayn was okay.

 

It was _horrible_.

 

Zayn never even really wanted to do it with Liam. It just happened.

 

As of that particular night, Liam had Zayn on his back, legs wrapped around Liam's body, his big hands gripping Zayn's hips as he flicked his own, hitting in deeper and deeper with every thrust.

 

Zayn just breathed hotly against Liam's neck, eyes watering as Liam sped up his movements to pleasure himself, only.

 

Liam shifted up the mattress, making Zayn whimper at the awkward positioning of his legs.

 

"Hush..." Liam muttered into the left crook of Zayn's neck, before biting down hard on his sensitive skin.

 

"Ow, Liam..." he mumbled, earning a sharp smack to his right cheek.

 

"What did I just say?"

 

Liam took care of himself, breathing out lecherously with his head thrown back and his fingernails biting into Zayn's soft hips.

 

Zayn wriggled uncomfortably, trying to ignore the pain and focus on the slow drag of it.

 

It might be crazy, but Zayn knew at some point he used to enjoy his sex with Liam. He wasn't sure when things started feeling more laborious than pleasurable, but that was the way he felt now. He tried sometimes, to remember and look for that feeling. But he was often unsuccessful.

 

"... mmm... close," Liam moaned, and Zayn could feel how his body was reacting to the stimulation, but he just wasn't feeling aroused at all. He really hoped he wasn't broken. It still felt sorta good, it's just that now, sex with Liam was simply another chore of his.

 

It was another pathetic thing about his pathetic life. He hadn't properly gotten off in two to three years. He had forgotten how it felt to really finish. He no longer remembered how to edge himself, or how to bring himself over the edge. He honestly forgot what a real satisfying orgasm felt like. He hadn't really needed or wanted that in his life anymore. He just wasn't interested.

 

"... shit... " and that's when Liam began pummelling into him, both hands instantly gripping around Zayn's neck, making the older close his eyes tightly. He refrained from making any noise, biting down on his lip to stifle to soft pained whines he knew were close to seeping through.

 

Zayn hated it when Liam did that, making his body tense and his back arch with the need to get away from whatever was trying to choke him. He just fisted his hands in the sheets, legs falling down as he tried to breathe.

 

"Fuck fuck fuck..." the man above Zayn cursed, as he began to tremble.

 

In no time at all, he was slowing his thrusts and shuddering and coming hard.

 

Liam collapsed on Zayn. He gasped pitifully, still feeling Liam right on top of him and deep inside of him.

 

"Li... Li, please... I can't breathe," he whimpered, voice raspy and weak as he frantically tried to move under the man's heavy weight. Zayn's efforts were futile, trying to slowly nudge the man out of the way. Zayn was feeling lightheaded, and dizzy, panicking and not being able to move this man's big hands from his neck or his body from encaging his. He felt smothered, and trapped, like he was drowning sinking slowly and would never breathe fresh air at the surface ever again.

Finally, Liam rolled off of him and pulled out of him, making him shoot up in surprise.

 

"Oh," he choked, coughing into his arm and heaving like nothing else. He felt tears dripping from his eyes within seconds, the fact that Liam could have killed him encircling his mind and making this whole life seem so terrifying. 

 

He could have died.

 

Who would have known?

 

He was completely isolated from his family and friends. None of them had heard from him in years. What if Liam had gone too far one night and he ended up passing out or something worse? Not a single soul would even know the difference between Zayn's life or death.

 

He sat there with the duvet held close to his chest for a long moment, before he decided to get out of the bed.

 

He dug around under the sheets for his boxers, then he slipped them on.

 

He saw that Liam was knocked out, which was as it always was after sex. Liam was sated and content, and that's all that ever really mattered.

 

Zayn was just in one of his new thin long sleeved shirts so he felt his body shivering with the cold contact of the air. He walked out of their room and down the hall, his bare feet chilled against the hard wood floor in their hallway. He sat himself down on their couch, and honestly, he didn't feel like any of it was theirs.

 

He felt like this whole house and everything in it belonged to Liam.

 

Including Zayn.

 

Zayn had to give up smoking when he first got with Liam. Liam didn't like it and was always asking Zayn why he didn't just stop if he really wanted to. He hadn't understood the workings of an addiction, but he wanted Zayn to be a certain way, and eventually took away his means to ever get a pack of cigarettes.

It was times like these where the pressure just weighed him down and made him feel like that was all he really needed to get through this. He just wanted a _God damn_ smoke and he couldn't even have **that**.

 

He sat on the couch next to the window in the living room, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes as they fell.

Zayn liked to dream, yeah.

 

But Liam was crushing every last one of them.

 

Every single dream of being successful and independent in Zayn's eyes crumbled the minute Liam had taken away his ability to choose.

 

He felt like a trampled rose, thorns too weak to resist being changed and rearranged and contorted. Zayn hated the fact that Liam was hurting him; changing him. At the start of it, he would have had a debate as to whether or not it was true abuse, but Zayn wasn't stupid. Liam really wanted to hurt Zayn, in retaliation to the way his disorder was hurting him. He would never admit it, and talking wouldn't help because he would just slap him or push him aside or yell over him and it just _wasn't fucking fair._

 

 

Zayn wasn't a bad boyfriend. He didn't deserve to be kept locked up and treated like an animal. He deserved love and softness, not rough hands and cacophonous commands. He deserved to be appreciated and complimented. He deserved the freedom to leave London for a few days to visit his family and friends up in Bradford. He deserved to be treated like a human being. And he deserved to have _his_ Liam back.

 

It wasn't fair.

 

Zayn sat there for what felt like hours, quivering with the chills of night and crying his eyes out to the thought of why he deserved to live like this.

 

 

**> > > >**

 

 

The following morning, Zayn sat in the sunroom and ate his breakfast, watching the hibiscus tree blankly as he swirled his soup-like corn flakes. Through the dark threads of his long unruly hair, he saw absolutely no movement. Not a centimetre. The tree looked dead. But he knew for a fact that all of his plants were very healthy and very much alive.

 

"How can you just sit there?" Zayn inquired to the inanimate organism.

 

Zayn pushed his breakfast away from his place at the wooden table, before dropping his head into his hands.

 

 

**> > > >**

**Author's Note:**

> { there have been few times in this life where i truly could not breathe  
> i am fortunate  
> it is the worst feeling in the world }


End file.
